The Run And Go
by Ich-Bin-Eine-Dame
Summary: Alfred remembers fond memories of Arthur. Flashbacks are set during WW1 (During), WW2 (V-E Day), Present Time (Twice), WW2 (During), WW2 (Post V-E Day but before V-J Day).


The Run And Go

When Alfred's bored, he thinks of video games, Bill Nye, or Arthur. Usually Arthur. And he's bored now, since Arthur's just left to go back to London, and, yeah. It's become really boring without him to complain about Alfred, although as soon as someone else complains about Alfred, he sprouts a bloody nose the next day, courtesy of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

America's not often seen England cry, partially, Alfred thinks, because he's private and reserved and _'Stiff Upper Lip, old boy.'_. In the hindsight, Arthur most likely believes that Alfred is the one who cries a lot, which is true in Alfred's mind. He cried during the first rebelling against the British Empire, in the revolution, the civil war, and lots of other times since then. Especially during wars with ('Or against.', Alfred's mind urges him to think, but he doesn't want to remember those times. He rather likes to remember the good memories, when he saves the day. Together with England, too, which makes it _so_ much better. Even better.) England. Alfred cried a lot during the world wars, in depressing trenches or private moments in tents. He cried after Hiroshima, after 9/11, after 7/7, after V-E Day, after and during a lot of things. Arthur held him, and didn't say a word, just calmed him, Alfred doesn't know how but he does that. Perhaps it's his smell, but, to be honest, no man smells great in trenches or the like. You smell of piss, rats, and gas.

Alfred shudders at the remembrance. He doesn't like thinking about bad times, he likes focusing on the good ones. Arthur isn't like that. He takes things apart, while Alfred's a big picture sort of guy, seeing things from above, like when he's in his Mustang high above the sky. Which reminds him of a poem or song during the war that his and England's boys sang a lot and played on the army standard Steinway piano that they had. It was something about falling in love with England, her (Alfred always used to snigger at this point.) skies and seas and beauty (Alfred's sniggering would stop.). The song was honest, and a mantra when Alfred was in the sky flying above England, looking down and focusing on not dying and being a hero. Then he stared at the Earth below and remembered how true the song was. He really did fall in love with England, with Arthur, when he was high above the sky. Probably because his mind was cleared and he focused on the important things. Which were flying, freedom, and Arthur. That makes Arthur very important, Alfred thinks, and smiles.

He likes Arthur's smile too. He loves it, just as much as he loves Arthur, which is a lot, Alfred wonders. They've been, properly, formally, officially, together for a good 70 years. Alfred likes to think that they were sort of together before that, especially during the First World War, when they spent endless nights and days in trenches. It wasn't romantic. The constant fear and smell of death does that to you. But still, they had each other. They were side by side, literally. As equals, for the first time during that war.

_Alfred breaths heavy, shaky breaths that appear like smoke in the cold air. He sags back against the wall of the trench, relaxing his grip on his bayonet, then turns his head with his oily hair and lopsided helmet to look at Arthur. Arthur looks tired and sad, tired of killing and seeing others be killed. His head is hanging down and is in a similar position as Alfred is, sitting in the mud, and simply __breathing__. Arthur draws in a shaky breath, holds it for a few seconds, then exhales and makes a choking noise that has Alfred worried. He leans forward and tries to look at Arthur, only to realise that he wasn't choking on gas or the like, he was crying, silently, in shallow sobs. Silently. Alfred froze, wanting to hold him, to comfort him, just to- __Be__ there. But he couldn't do that, not when there were bombs in the back and he was sure that Arthur didn't feel the same way he did. The gas and bombs must have maimed his brain and logical thinking, as Alfred draws up his shaking armand holds Arthur's hand. It's cold and dirty and sweaty. It should be disgusting, but it's not. It's comforting. They don't exchange a word. They eventually fall asleep, just like that, and when they awake to the sound of bombs and Arthur is forced to blow the whistle that signifies attack, Alfred catches his eyes, even with the crowd of soldiers and good 20 meters between them. They share a stare that lasts longer that it should have, only to be broken when a bomb goes off directly behind Arthur. It blows them both off their feet, and Alfred remembers only fractions of memories- Of him running amongst the chaos towards Arthur, thinking only about 'Arthur, Arthur, __Arthur__'. Once he finds him, ripped by shrapnel, bleeding and frail and broken, he hold him and cries, just like Arthur did. Silently. _

Alfred sighs. He certainly liked the positive memories, but blocked out the bad ones. Arthur isn't like that. He's the most honest and truthful nation out there, with exception to France, surprisingly enough, but maybe that's because there's a lot of Arthur's personality that resembles him. Something to do with the geography and history between them. Francis only really got like that, kind of old and wise, during the war, the second one, and perhaps the first, but Alfred was not very close to him during the first, it seemed he was always next to Arthur. Francis matured a lot in the second, his age old wisdom coming to light amongst the terror. Alfred doesn't know when it happened, he was surrounding himself with Arthur, underlined with the steady current of fear and hope. The second war was difficult. It is etched in Alfred's brain, and Arthur's too. He could write a book about all of the bad memories during the war. Fewer pages than the first or others, if he could even say that, because who is he to decide which war is the worst? The second was just as bad as all the others he fought, which weren't a lot, but still. The second _was_ bad. Like when he dropped the bomb on Nagasaki and Hiroshima (The thought still makes Alfred ill) or lost battles or made wrong decisions. But he could write volumes about the good ones, multiple books. Maybe because he liked to remember those the most. His favourite ones are the ones when Arthur smiled or laughed.

_London's streets were full, crowded, but Arthur found Alfred in the crowd, somehow. Perhaps it's because nations can always feel when another is in their country, especially their capital, their heart. In England's heart, literal and figurative, there was just joy, it seemed endless. And Alfred was really happy, incredibly so. And Arthur was right there, right next to him, smiling so wide it made Alfred's chest seem too small for his heart and his fingers tingle. His mind must have backfired, since he made a noise close to a exasperate laugh, ran forward a little, and picked Arthur up, who just laughed and giggled, he __giggled__. Alfred spun him around like they were in a movie, never losing eye contact with Arthur and forgetting the rest- Like the fact that the war was only over in Europe and that he still had to fly back to the Pacific. _

_Alfred feels like he could cry and laugh and really, really, really, wants to tell England that his laugh is beautiful, just like the rest of England, just like it says in that song he remembered while flying, and how it fills him with joy and other romantic things. So he just grins madly and says: "You're laughing.", with his hands still on his hips. Arthur's hands are on his chest, and Alfred studies his face, his beautiful face, that looks tired and skinny but happy, so __happy__. Alfred wants to see him like that every day, so he tells him just that. At which point Arthur just laughs out loud. Alfred raises his hands to cup his Arthur's face and brush in his hair. Arthur's officer's cap is lost, somewhere on the floor, probably when Arthur and Alfred first heard the news of "V-E Day", as it was called. Arthur grabbed his hand and they raced downstairs, like hormonal teenagers. Arthur didn't let go for a while, neither did Alfred. Arthur and Alfred are both still wearing gloves, and Arthur's green uniform makes his eyes look bright and, really, __really __pretty. Alfred finds himself so lost in Arthur, just all of Arthur, that he can't help himself when he leans down and kisses him. Arthur reacts fast, Alfred is pleased to believe, by putting his hands in Alfred's hair and kisses him back, he __kisses__ him __back__, grinning a little. Alfred kisses him so long and passionately that he ends up bending him backwards like in a cheesy Hollywood movie. It's awkward and strange but __they were kissing__, and that's all that mattered. When they stop, mainly because, firstly, it was the first kiss and he doesn't want passionate, he wants romance, baby steps is the way to go with someone as classy as England. Secondly because they couldn't breathe. Alfred's reasoning of chastity for England's sake is thrown out of the window, partially because the passion and need had been initiated by Arthur. They both stare at each other, still holding on closely, when Alfred says, eloquently and romantically as he is: "Arthur, I want to date you. Please. If you want to, 'cause I want to, you know, I've wanted to, since, like, forever, really. Well, more like the first war, but I think I only noticed it then, yanno? Before that, I think I've loved you- ", to which Arthur replies with wide eyes and another kiss that cuts him off and throws Alfred backwards. When he stops, all Arthur says is "You talk too much.", and Alfred replies "Only when it's important.", and Arthur shoots him a grin that Alfred remembers exactly, even today, because he etched it in his mind. Arthur was grinning like that because of Alfred. The thought made Alfred so happy, so very happy, that he just smiled back and cried a little- Out of relief that the war was won, but mostly because he was just so happy to have Arthur, finally, __finally__ in his arms. _

Since they've, you know, started dating, and the like (Alfred always blushes a little when he thinks about their romantic life. He also smiles a little dopily. Arthur says that that smile is his favourite with a laugh. Alfred then just grins a little more.), Alfred feels like Arthur smiles more. When he acts professional and reserved, at meetings and things like that, he's very serious and acts, in Alfred's opinion, old. But when it's just the two of them, he's younger, or acts like it. For that he's, what? A thousand? Alfred doesn't really know- Europeans are all weird in his mind, anyway. Nowadays, he wears black and white suits only, with a black thin tie that reminds him of what he used to wear in the sixties. It makes him seem a little taller and frames his small measurements very well. Francis once said that Paris is the capital for women's fashion, but London is the capital for men's. It's true. Arthur has always been very fashionable, modern in that sense. He's not Alfred or Kiko when it comes to technology, but he's not too bad. Back when he was an empire he was almost futuristic with inventions and the like.

When Arthur's just at home, he wears sweatpants that are too big on him and, typically when he's at Alfred's place, one of his t-shirts, which Alfred really, _really_ likes on him. When Arthur's in London, he often has an Oxford sweater, from which he was several degrees, in English Literature especially, which suits him since he reads a lot and owns original manuscripts. He's almost as nerdy about literature as Alfred is about science.

Contrary to popular opinion, Arthur rarely wears sweater vests. Once Alfred jokingly asked when he will, and Arthur just replied: "The day I own a _sweater vest_ will be the day that Scotland shows up at my door with flowers and a _'I'm Sorry.'_ card. I'm not _that_ old." London is pretty cool, as well as the rest of England, and surprisingly not old and stuffy. During the Second World War and in the 50s it gave off such an aura, posh and proper, but the 60s really turned that upside down. Since then, Arthur looked cool, modern, and young. His hair was a little weird, it looked like it was originally brown but dyed blond, as the roots were dark, but it was natural. His eyebrows were a little big, but not really, they were just dark and fitted him so well. His eyelashes were also dark and thick, not very long, and the darkness on his face made his skin look pale, a good pale, like rosy, and his lips pink. His whole body and face was sharp, angled, and lean, though not too tall. His legs, damn, Alfred really loved his legs. And his eyes. They were a pretty green and bright and made him look young. Definitely not a thousand. A thousand year old men do not wear black skinny jeans and black army combat boots, often the same he just wore when he was with his SAS boys, or Oxfords and white t-shirts... He was simple, sleek. And in that way, possibly just as modern as the rest of the world. Definitely more fun.

_Alfred doesn't exactly remember how it started, but he didn't care. Both of them had been a little drunk, they'd gotten dinner. Later Arthur got some Tesco Value vodka, when he bought it he was already little tipsy and just looked Alfred straight in the eyes and said "Recession hit us hard.", after which Alfred laughed so hard the cashier had to ask whether he was "Quite alright, sir?". _

_Presently, the bottle, and various others, were empty on the floor, and Arthur had lost his pants somehow, wearing Alfred's boxers and t-shirt that were both too big on him, but Alfred loved it since it showed Arthur off extremely well. Although he also thought Arthur looked good in a suit, in anything really. Alfred slipped into his pyjama as well, somehow losing a sock on the journey. Arthur's London apartment living room was a complete mess, with takeout curry on the floor and genuinely, it looked far too much like a university student loft, certainly not like 'Stuffy Old England'._

_Currently, both of them had discovered MTV on Arthur's shitty early 2000s TV that felt oddly __right__ in his apartment, even if it is a good decade old. After their colourful cover of 'Come On Eileen', Arthur had the brilliant idea to fetch his black bass guitar and dig out one of Alfred's electric guitars, the red one that had been somehow left at Arthur's place during the 60s or 70s. When he ran back, with an instrument in each hand, he grinned a lopsided grin and lifted his head up. Alfred laughed when Arthur almost tripped over some bottle and swore loudly and colourfully._

_Alfred strummed his guitar, smiling at the familiar feeling, then looked over at Arthur to notice him do the same. His long, thin fingers were seemingly made for his bass. The TV played the first tunes of a familiar song, 'I Bet That You Look Good On the Dancefloor', and Arthur jumped up a little, still smiling. _

"_I love this band!", Alfred said, and turned to smile excitedly at Arthur, who showed him a lopsided grin and said "Me too. There mine, aren't they?". _

_Alfred turned off the television and gestured to Arthur to play. Arthur just gave him an intense look that sent shivers down Alfred's spine because he was so __hot__ and it was Alfred he was looking at that way. Arthur started the first notes and after that, both of them seemed to get lost in the music and the alcohol. "And you're shoulders are frozen- As cold as the night. But you're an explosion- You're dynamite.", Alfred belted out. His singing voice wasn't the best, he liked Arthur's more because it was rough and deep and sounded not entirely unlike the original song's singer. Alfred couldn't continue singing, though, neither could Arthur, as the next thing he did was lean forward and kiss him as rough as his voice was and as deep as their love. It sounded sappy, but Alfred would never change his mind that that was exactly how Arthur kissed him, and exactly how he liked it. He tasted like bitter tea and cigarettes he stilled smoked, just to piss of the anti-smoking policy lovers of his government, and especially the European Union "Complete fuckup tossers with a brain the size of Francis's chastity ring", to which Alfred replied with "But he doesn't have one, Artie.", and Arthur countered with "My point exactly." and took a long drag of his cigarette. His favourite position to smoke was just outside the parliament, where sometimes his ministers would see him, and if he were luckily, the European Union would pass and shake her head. Alfred didn't smoke anymore since it was dangerous to his citizens, he read that in some sort of magazine once and immediately stopped. He was ahead of the times, in that sense._

_He didn't mind the taste in Arthur's mouth, though. Especially since he kissed like he spoke: With sharp tongue and truthful harshness, layered in __Britishness__- God, that accent! In Alfred's book this meant really, really, really hot. Mostly hot, but beautiful too. He'd fallen in love with Arthur a long time ago, longer than humans live, and they've been together longer than humans usually live, a good 70 years. _

_Alfred woke up the next morning, a little hungover and with Arthur lying next to him, and later Arthur stood in Alfred's t-shirt still from yesterday night eating a bowl of cereal, and Alfred commented "Hey, you didn't fuck it up this time!", after which Arthur glared at him that sent shivers down his spine. Then they watched some soap operas and didn't really do anything all day. When Arthur, with a cigarette stuck in his mouth and still no trousers on and complained to Alfred about the mess, with his brows mussed together and bed-head hair, Alfred felt like he'd fallen in love with him all over again. _

If there was one thing that was steady about Arthur, it's that he had a short temper. Perhaps that's why he and Alfred fight a lot, but he likes that, it's never boring with Arthur. Even if he sometimes sprouts a bloody nose after a security council meeting because _"Alfred, if you think I can handle spending hours of France vetoing every single resolution, then you are very wrong."_. Arthur stands up for what's right, mostly, and in that way he and Alfred are very alike. Except that Alfred usually thinks in the short term, and Arthur usually first punches, then stops and thinks about what to do next. At least he doesn't first declare war and invade, then thinks about it. Like Alfred and his government totally don't do. Never...

He swears a lot, too, more than Alfred. And when Arthur's angry, like, _really _angry, then you should probably hide. Something Francis never understood.

"_Please place your item in the bagging area." The self-checkout area repeated, stressing the last two words in an extremely passive aggressive voice. _

"_IT IS IN THE MOTHERFUCKING BAGGING AREA." Arthur shouted at the machine, waving his arms and positively fuming. It was a funny sight, and when the electronic voice repeated itself for the millionth time, Arthur just mumbled multiple swearwords that Alfred didn't even understand and tried again. When it, expectedly, didn't work, he just said "Oh Jesus." and walked away, picking up his few, basic groceries, and stood inline. It was evening, and the 24-Hour small City Tesco close to Arthur's London apartment was full with businessmen in suits who had just finished work. Arthur was one of them. He had just had a rather difficult day in parliament. So, Alfred decided not to bother him, it was his last day of work before the Christmas vacation anyway._

_Arthur was still muttering and complaining to Alfred, but he zones out when he turns his head and looks at Arthur. He only arrived at Heaththrow last night, and with the jetlag he didn't really see Arthur today at all. Arthur was so interesting. There was no other word, besides beautiful, pretty, hot, and other synonyms for beautiful. Alfred stared at his face, noticing the little details, like how he had moles on his neck and some on his face, a few freckles too, and his blonde hair looked good the way it was today, a little poofy and long. Perfect to run your hands through. Arthur had a lot of moles and marks on his back, too, and scars, but Alfred liked that about him, and the way his back was smaller than Alfred's, and the way he always scratched his forehead, a nervous tick, or-_

"_Stop staring at me. You're gaping." Arthur stated, a little agitated, probably from the incident before. Alfred stuttered and immediately looked down at the floor, embarrassed, since Arthur probably thought he was improper and rude and the like. _

"_S-sorry. 'S just that you're..."_

"_I'm what?" Arthur sounds Northern, which is never good, since he sounds Northern when he's angry. It's really, really, __really__ attractive but mostly scary. Very scary._

"_You're, you're interesting. L-Like in a good way! Full of little details, yanno? And I like noticing the little details about you and stuff. It makes it easier when we're apart and I don't get to see you..." Alfred trailed off and mumbled slightly, sticking his hands in his jeans pockets._

"_Interesting?" Arthur asked, showing amusement in his voice. Alfred kept his eyes trained on the floor, biting his lip and blushing._

"_Yep." He said quietly, popping the 'p'. They lapsed into silence and Alfred didn't look up, it was far too embarrassing. _

_He missed the smile Arthur showed when his head turned away shyly. _

Another thing that was really interesting about Arthur was religion, Alfred remembered. He doesn't have one, he doesn't care, but he believes in something. Though he's not sure what. Alfred is a man of science, he worships Bill Nye! Alfred (And Bill, too) respect others, and feels that as a nation with millions of different people believing different things, it's wrong to have a specific one in your own mind. Francis sees that differently, he's a Catholic through and through, as are many other Europeans. Arthur doesn't mind that. He often goes to church, like during Christmas, and he lights a candle every Sunday, consistently. Alfred isn't sure for whom, and then remembers that he knows too many people who have died. Arthur, being older, must know even more. As an immortal nation, it just it like that. And in that sense, Alfred understands why Arthur does that. Seeing people die in front of your eyes does that to you.

_Although the small church was full of soldiers that were American, British, anything really, the hymns were all French. The little town was recently liberated, and the service was held in French, naturally, as they were in France. It made sense. _

_Alfred understood why it was being held; to thank and to remember. He sat down next to Arthur, who sat next to Francis, his brother on the end of the bench next to the Frenchman. They were all in uniform, tired and worn out from the action in the last days at the French front. _

_Francis was concentrated and praying, he was a deeply religious man. Matthew was listening, and Alfred was too, with the little French he knew. He wanted to be respectful, it was a tough time, no one wanted a second war. Alfred furrowed his brow in concentration and listened to the priests words, only to find that he really didn't speak clearly and Alfred was just confusing himself, anyway. Instead, he turned his head to Arthur. _

_Arthur originally didn't want to attend the mass, but went along anyway, for the same reason Alfred did: To respect. And Alfred was glad he did come, s-since he was sitting real close next to him, and all that jazz. Arthur looked serious, it appeared he was really listening to what the priest was praising. Alfred knew he understood and spoke fluent French, he just didn't brag about it. When it was time to sing, they all stood up, and Alfred really wanted to hold Arthur's hand. So he does, and Arthur glances at him and they share a look, but continue singing, and it seems like everyone else is forgotten, all pain of war. Arthur looks at him in a way that makes Alfred's heart beat faster since, although Arthur looks down, he can't hide the twitch of his lips tugging upwards. Neither lets go for a long time. _

Alfred sighs, feeling the same fluttery feeling he felt when he held Arthur's hand, and decides he hasn't called Arthur today yet. It's around 3 a.m. at England's place, but he doesn't care. He just wants to hear his voice. He misses him, a lot. But he's missed him more at other times. And Alfred, frankly, doesn't want to remember those times. At the same time, he does, since they were hard and tough but really special when he was reunited with Arthur again.

_After V-E Day, Alfred was called back to the Pacific, which made sense in both Alfred's and Arthur's minds, since they were his shores. Still, they didn't have much time to share after the events in London, and mostly they had been shy and awkward. A good awkward, because Alfred thought it felt new and that's why it was awkward, __they__ were awkward. But Alfred liked that they were a __they__. His fingers were shaking a little, because it was Arthur he wanted to radio, and he was nervous about doing and saying the right thing. He really, really, really wanted this to work. _

_ "Arthur?"_

_ After a small silence, he heard his reply._

_ "Hello, Alfred." Arthur sounded slightly surprised. Aw man, he really missed Arthur. Badly. After they went from teenage-like mutual crush to a teenage hormonal rampage on V-E Day to a awkward, again, this seemed to be a pattern, teenage-like couple (Alfred really hoped they were a couple. He did take him on a g-good 5 dates, and they hung out a lot besides that, too!). _

_ The silence must have bothered Arthur._

_ "Alfred, are you still there?"_

_ "Huh? Yeah. Yeah I am." A short pause resulted. Arthur seemed to have expected Alfred to say something else. _

_ "I don't mean to be rude, but why did you radio me? Is everything alright?" Arthur sounded worried and Alfred grinned because __'Holy Shit, Arthur is worried about me'__._

_ "C-can't a guy call his best guy? Y-You since we, erm. Are. We are dating..?" Alfred sounded nervous and not in the slightest bit heroic. _

_ Silence, and Alfred really hoped that it wasn't a bad silence and more of a __'He's so embarrassing and I love him so much.'__ silence. _

_ "O-Of course you can. It's just-"_

_ Oh God._

_ "... I-I feel like if I hear your voice...", he trailed off and quietly continued, "..I'll miss you even more." _

_Oh God._

_ "Hey, Arthur?"_

_ "Yes, Alfred?"_

_ "I love you." Alfred thought that this was the most serious his voice has been since he declared his independence. But this time, it was kinder and softer, and just as important._

_ Static, a shaky breath._

_ "I love you, too."_

The dial tone is loud in Alfred's ear.

"Hello?"

"Arthur?"

"What the fuck do you want?"

Arthur sounds tired and his voice is deep and rough and laced with sleep. Alfred blushes a little since his voice also gets like this a-after they spend the night. In the same bed. T-together.

Alfred swallows, then continues: "It's me."

"I know, you twit. I've got caller I.D."

Silence.

"Hey, Arthur?", he asks quietly.

"Yes, Alfred?"

"I love you."

Arthur draws in a breath.

"I love you, too."

The title is taken from a Twenty One Pilots song, I highly recommend it for a warm fluffy feeling! It's very relevant to Arthur's and Alfred's feelings, so I think the title fits. The lyrics didn't really fit with this specific plot though, so no song fic. 

Furthermore, the song that Alfred talks about I saw on "Endeavour" (It's a great show), and I just recall that it was a poem (Or song?) about falling in love with England while flying a fighter plane. It mentions England as a 'she', I remember that. It's probably not historically accurate to say that it was sung by American or English soldiers, since I'm not even 100% sure it _is _a song. I just thought if it was, Alfred would love it hehe


End file.
